Spreading Roots

Dean Winchester pulled his Impala up to the familiar curb, casting a small weary glance at the house he'd visited just a little while ago.

You know, before he and his brother stopped the apocalypse. And then Dean lost that brother.

The very last of his family.

The very last of anything.

Was it worth it? Dean just didn’t know what to think any more. He wanted to say he made the right choice. That he did what Sam wanted, that this was what had to be done in order to save the world. How could he possibly agree with that when it was all said and done, when he was alone in the car he grew up in with his little brother and left with one choice he didn’t even want to make?

Not in his state of mind. For the first time in a long time, Dean was at a loss.

He sucked in a shallow, forced breath and lightened up his white-knuckled grip on the Impala's steering wheel. Deliberately slow, he opened the car door and stepped out. The creaking sound of the door as it swung shut stung his already aching tired ears, but he didn't even have the energy to wince at the noise.

A hand still rested on the door handle. It seemed to him that if he let go, he'd let go of Sam and any hope that he'd ever come back, that he'd ever see him again.

But that was it. He knew Sam wasn't coming back, not this time. He couldn't help but humor the idea, though. Maybe there was some mojo he could conjure up, some old ritual or crazy they missed through all their searching.

Letting go of the Impala wasn't going to be easy either, as that single car held practically all of his childhood memories… memories that almost always involved Sam.

That simple fact made him take a step closer, closer toward Lisa and having as close of a family as he could get. That was what Sam wanted, and Dean had promised him this. His memories from the Impala wouldn't even be memories without Sam in them, Dean was acutely sure about that. Yes, Dean owed his brother this much. Dean wouldn’t be much of a brother otherwise.

While he thought about Sammy, a silent begrudging tear rolled down his cheek. For a minute all he wanted was Sam back, so much so that he'd have been willing and ready to deal with the goddamned apocalypse and Lucifer in all of his sulfuric, chaotic glory. Just to get his brother back.

He didn't want to go back to Lisa and live the sheltered life behind a white picket fence, not really.

He wanted a family. Sam was gone, Dad was gone. Lisa and Ben were all he had left.

One more step was taken in the house's direction, this time a little more sure of himself afterward. Although there were still a few lights on inside, it was getting late and Dean knew he had to get a move on.

A faint, cheery jingle interrupted his melancholy thoughts. He made a half turn, stuck in between going back to the Impala to find the source of the annoying sound and quite possibly smashing whatever it was, or just ignoring it and continue on his journey to Lisa and Ben.

After all, just a few more feet and he'd make it.

"Screw it," he muttered and stalking back to the passenger side of the Impala.

Truthfully, he knew exactly what he was doing. He just wasn't able to believe himself just yet.

The sound, getting louder with each footfall, originated from the glove box. After another weary drawn out sigh, he realized exactly it was.

One of his father's old cell phones.

Still grumbling, he opened the door and reached into the glove compartment, rummaging through the copious amount of cell phones until he figured out exactly which one was ringing. He didn't recognize the number, but it wasn’t like he expecting to, anyway.

Regrettably, Dean answered it. And he didn’t even get the chance to say 'hello'.

"John? John Winchester?"

Go figure, he didn't recognize this lady's voice either. It was however familiar and unfamiliar at the same time, and it left Dean perplexed. He didn’t like being stumped and especially not about something so idiotic at a time like this. On a night like then, he wasn’t in any mood to deal with her. "He's dead."

And so's the rest of my family.

"Oh—oh," the woman on the other end sounded heartbroken. Through his misery Dean felt a pang of remorse in his steely heart for being so harsh with her, but the feeling faded quickly and Dean soon returned to the numb, disconnected sensation he got the moment Sammy died.

"But this is his son," he hurried on despite himself, but kept his voice just as flat. "Dean."

"Dean—Dean," did she have some sort of problem with repeating herself... OCD maybe? "Thank God it's you. I thought I was going to have to deal with this all on my own."

Slightly creeped out, Dean kept an eye on the house and his grip on the old flip phoned tightened significantly. "Listen, lady. I have no idea who you are."

"Oh dear, I'm sorry darling! Marilyn. Marilyn Baker. You um, you might remember my daughter, Kara Baker."

The name alone opened up a floodgate of old memories from his adolescence. Boy, did he ever remember Kara Baker. "Yeah, up in Minnesota huh?"

"Yes, yes… that's us."

"How is she?" Dean wondered why he was conversing with her or even why he answered the damned phone in the first place, but he couldn't help but ask. Kara was a nice girl, until he got to her at least, and after that he'd never seen her again. So it didn't matter, at least not at the time.

"She's dead." Of course she was. "John came into town about five years ago and, and—a werewolf attacked her. He took care of it."

Dean knew exactly what she meant by that, and his eyebrows about shot through his forehead. Dad never mentioned anything about going up to Minnesota, and Dean sure as hell hadn't been with him. It must have been during one of those times he randomly disappeared.

He felt sick to his stomach for the umpteenth time that night. The conversation had taken a bad turn and he wanted to end it there. "So why'd you call?"

"Something's—now, I know this is going to sound crazy, but something's happening. Been happening, in my house,"

For the next three minutes, Dean listened to about a quarter of the things she listed off. It sounded supernatural; it sounded like a poltergeist. It sounded like she needed his help. And Marilyn was sure as hell vocal about needing it, too. She all but begged him to drive up to Minnesota right then and there.

If he agreed, this was it for Dean. No backyard barbeques or leisurely Sunday golf games for him if he took this job. This was the one moment he’d say to hell with it and throw all those dreams out the window.

He had to decide now. What he wanted… what he needed. Was a family really the right thing for him? Or was it helping other families what he enjoyed most?

The phone call ended with a largely hesitant "I'll see what I can do." on Dean's part. He felt like he had to go check it out at the very least. Marilyn sounded just as messed up as he was with her family, and he wanted to save what was left of it. If anything there was anything left to save.

"I'm sorry, Sammy," He whispered to himself, throwing the cell phone back into the glove compartment before jogging over to the driver's side of the Impala. "I don't know why, but I just gotta do this.”

This family didn't need an entirely possible poltergeist on their hands just as much as Dean didn't need a little brother stuck in Hell.